You Think This is Hard?
by mynameisnotbob
Summary: Peeta swallowed the Nightlock. Katniss died in the Quarter Quell. The rebellion never lived. Let the 98th Hunger Games begin, and may the odds be ever in your favour. When Kurt is reaped, his whole world is turned upside down. He must fight for his life, while fighting against his feelings for fellow tribute Blaine. Panem is changing, and this is only the beginning. Klaine
1. Chapter 1 Nighmares

_**Chapter 1: Nightmares**_

_Kurt's P.O.V._

I stand, fixed to the spot, as the district escort calls my name, over and over again. Sweat runs from my every pore and all eyes are turned toward me. Suddenly, my sweating increases, forming a river and with a flash, I am no longer at the reaping, but being hurtled down stream by a mass of white water. All around me, mockingjay's harmonise an eerie melody, one that my jumbled brain connects to the song that was sung at my mother's funeral years ago. The river ends and I am thrown into the air above a massive waterfall, but beneath me, there is no water to break my fall, only wire. Wire spreads in every direction as far as I can see. I recognise it as that that lines the fence separating our district from the surrounding woods. I fall; I can feel the wind tearing at my clothes.

Falling, falling, falling.

I close my eyes, readying my self for impact.

I can feel the ground drawing closer and with a rush…

I jolt upwards so fast, my head hits the low ceiling of my room. I quietly swear and run a hand through my sweat filled hair. For a moment I can not recall the details of my nightmare, but then it all comes rushing back to me. The reaping, the river, the singing, falling, the wire. All of these things bring back terrible memories for me.

For one, there was the tune that I had heard the mockingjay's singing. It was, without mistake, the song that had been sung at my mother's funeral. She died nine years ago, when I was eight, in a mining accident. Her team, and also two others, had all perished after a gas had leaked into their work space. Someone had then dropped an oil lamp and the whole sector had gone up in flames. They never even recovered her body. At her funeral, I remember, holding my fathers hand as the plain wooden box that should have contained her was lowered into the ground.

Before my mother went, I had loved music. She would take me, we would sit right by the district boundary and she would sing to the mockingjay's, and they would replicate her tunes perfectly. Sometimes I would join in, and other times I would just lay with my head in her lap and listen. I have not sung since that black day nine years ago.

And then there is the river. Two years after my mother died, I had snuck under a hole in the fence and ventured into the woods. I had come across a shallow river with a sandy beach and a small island in the centre of it. I'd like to say that I tried to get to the island just because I was a kid, and kids seek adventure, but really it was for the flowers that I saw growing there. I have always been different like that.  
I had walked into the water, planning to walk across to the island, but had misjudged its depth. When I got about half way across, I found that I could no longer touch the bottom. Panicking, I had tried to find somewhere where I could place my feet, or something to hang onto. The water swept me down stream and I probably would have drowned it not for a tree that was hanging over the river. I had grabbed a low hanging branch and using strength that was most likely summoned by the sheer adrenaline pulsing through me, pulled my self out of the river. I had lain on the bank gasping and shaking until the sun was low in the sky.

The wire and the falling were again, another story. For as long as I can remember, I have stood out. While other boys were playing with home-made wooden swords, I was helping the girls decorate their dolls with flowers from the meadow. Eventually even they deserted me because they realised that I was different.

Ever since I was about thirteen, the merchant boys had found it in their interests to grab me and hang me by my clothes to the wire atop the fence. Being so much bigger than me, this is not hard for them. Countless times, I have fallen from the top of the fence, spraining ankles and wrists. I just deem it lucky that I have not broken anything.

And then there is the reaping.

It is the soul fear in all twelve districts of Panem.

Every year, the Capitol chooses one boy and one girl to represent each district in the Hunger Games, a televised event where the 24 'tributes' must fight to the death until one lone victor remains.

Everyone between the ages 12 and 18 has their name in the reaping ball. In your first year, your name is in once, and then in your second year, it is added twice more, so then you would have your name in three times. But this is only if you are lucky. Once your name enters the reaping, you are eligible to take out tesserae's, which supply a grain and oil ration to each member of your family.

Today is the day of the reaping. Today, there will be 33 slips of paper with the name 'Kurt Hummel' on them in the reaping bowl. Today, two families from each district will lose a child. Today, according to the Capitol, should be a day of celebration. Today, in District 12, it is a day of sorrow.


	2. Chapter 2 The Reaping

_**Chapter 2: The Reaping**_

I lay on my bed, staring at the sunlight that filters in through my dusty window. I may as well take advantage of the fact that on reaping days we do not have to attend to our normal duties. We are allowed a sleep in before the reaping ceremony, although we must spend time readying ourselves, as the Capitol calls that every citizen looks their best, as it is supposed to be a day of celebration.

I hear a knock on my door.

"Kurt, are you awake?" My father, Burt, calls.

"Yes," I call back

"Well you should probably start getting ready; we don't want to be late."

I roll out of bed and make my way to the small bathroom that adjoins my room. Compared to some families living in the Seam, we are fairly well off, but compared to most of the merchant families, and even some of the Seam residents, we have nothing.

I hop into the tub, letting the warm water encase my body. Warm baths are definitely a luxury in District 12. The only hot water we get is that which we boil our selves. This is the only day of the year where a hot bath is guaranteed. After all, if we are going to the Capitol, we need to look our best. The whole system sickens me. But there is nothing that I or anyone else can do about it.

After shampooing my hair, I get out and wrap a course towel around my body and return to my room to choose the outfit that I will wear to the Reaping. I pick a pair of caramel coloured pants, a faded blue button up shirt and a loose wool scarf that my mother knitted me for my fifth birthday. I slip on my tattered brown boots and make my way to the small mirror in the corner. I comb my light brown hair into a wave on top of my head.

I walk out of my bedroom into the main area of the house, where our table, small stove, fireplace and ancient TV set sit. My father sits at the table eating a small breakfast of watery porridge. I serve my self a bowl of the same mixture and sit down opposite him.

"Dad…" I begin

"Promise me something." He interrupts.

"I-I, ok," I stammer.

"Whatever happens today, just remember I'm proud of you and I love you, okay? Just remember that," He says

"Dad, it's been six years. They didn't pick me then, so they're not going to pick me now. I'll tell you what," I reach out and grab my father's hand, "Tonight, we're going to come home, together, and we're going to have a big dinner, like something they'd have in the Capitol, and we'll be happy that we're here, together, as safe as we can get."

"I love you Kurt," he says, squeezing my hand.  
"Love you too Dad. Now come on we'll be late."

~  
We walk through the Seam, on our way to the town square. We pass countless dilapidated houses, which just like everything else in District 12, are caked in coal dust.

Once we reach town, the buildings are in slightly better condition, but being the district furthest from the Capitol, it seems like we are forgotten sometimes. Everything is in disrepair and I am pretty sure that no one, not even the mayor's family, ever goes to bed with a full stomach. But god knows if I spoke my opinions out loud I would be whipped to a pulp, or maybe even executed. But I know everyone else thinks the same things. How it's so unfair that the Capitol has so much, and we have so little. How innocent kids are sent to their death every year because of something that happened nearly 100 years ago. I hate everything about it. I hate the Capitol. I hate President Snow. I hate the Games.

We approach the town square and I give my dad one last hug before signing in and going to stand with the rest of the seventeen year old boys. Everything in the square is bleak and grey, from the people's faces, to the dirtied concrete pavement. It is eerily quiet for a place with so many people in it. The only talking is a few whispered conversations scattered through out the crowd.

The silence is broken by the mayor, Madge Undersee, and the district escort, Effie Trinket coming on to the stage. Mayor Undersee approaches the microphone and in a falsely-chipper voice welcomes us here.

"Welcome citizens of District 12 to the reaping for the 98th annual Hunger Games!"

Mayor Undersee is clearly _not _a supporter of the games. There are rumours that she was the friend of one of the districts only victors, Katniss Everdeen, who had died in the third Quarter Quell, where the tributes were previous year's victors. The winner of the Quarter Quell had been twelves only other living victor, Haymitch Abernathy. Technically, he was supposed to be here as well, but he hadn't attended since he had won the Quarter Quell, an even before that, he had always been drunk during the ceremony.

The Mayor continues her speech, concluding with a list of the districts three victors. She hands the microphone to Effie, who is famous for the ridiculous attire she dons every year. Effie has been the escort for sixteen years, ever since Katniss won the games. She approaches the front of the stage, her bright green wig and dress swaying from side to side.  
"Ladies and gentlemen of District 12, what a pleasure it is to see you all here today!" She exclaims loudly. "Now lets take a minute to watch a _very, very_ special film brought to you by our dear friends in the Capitol!"

A film starts to roll on the huge screens either side of the stage. It's the same one as every year. Just like every other person in Panem, I could probably recite it off by heart. It begins by telling about the Dark Days, when the districts rebelled against the Capitol, and then after winning the war, the Capitol created the Hunger Games as a way to keep the peace. If you ask me, it is a stupid idea. How is making innocent children kill other innocent children going to keep people at bay?

The film ends and an un-enthusiastic applause rings through out the crowd. Effie grins and continues with her speech.

"Now, it is time to select one courageous young man and woman to represent District 12 in the 98th annual Hunger Games. Ladies first!" She says, and walks towards the ball that contains the girl's names. With a flourish she pulls out a slip.

"Rachel Berry!" She calls.

No.

Rachel is the only person in the whole district, apart from my father, that I could call my friend. We are both complete out casts, with her loud, over the top, demanding personality scaring most people away. I don't know if she would consider _me _her friend, but whenever there are pair activities at school, we always end up together, and we will sit together at lunch. They can't do this. Rachel doesn't stand a chance. She is tiny, and despite her attitude, I doubt she could kill someone.

They can't.

Rachel climbs onto the stage, her face an emotionless mask. I have to admire her for not bursting into tears. Effie pats her on the back and motions to where she should stand.

Effie makes her way to the boys Reaping ball, her green wig glinting horribly in the bright sunlight.

"Now time for the boys!" She yells. She reaches into the ball, and after a second, pulls out a small slip of pristine white paper. She reads out the name.

"Kurt Hummel"


	3. Chapter 3 Goodbye

_**Chapter 3: Goodbye**_

I stand, fixed to the spot. Its just like my nightmare, all eyes are turned towards me and my palms are sweating so much I think a river _could _just about appear. And if it did, I would welcome it. This can't be happening. First Rachel and now…

Oh god…

The boys around me back off to give those on stage a clear view.

"Come on, darling!" Effie calls, "Come up!"

My feet start moving, but everything seems surreal. Rachel's tears from on the stage. My father's screams and protests. The peace-keeper's yells.

I climb the small flight of steps and stand in place next to Rachel. She is now sobbing uncontrollably, her hands over her mouth and tears running down her face.

"Do we have any volunteers?" Effie asks the crowd.

Please someone volunteer, I think. Please anybody.

But no-one does. And why should I be surprised? In nearly a hundred years of the Hunger Games, we have only ever had one volunteer in District 12, and that was Katniss. And plus, who would volunteer for me?

Effie tells us to shake hands. I reach out to Rachel, but instead, she pulls me into an embrace. I hug her back and for a moment we just cry together.

We are ushered into the Justice Building and let to separate rooms. Everything is so opulent. Red drapes hang from the windows and the wood-panelled walls give off a freshly polished gleam.

I sit on the plush couch in the corner and lay my head in my hands. The door opens and my father walks in. I stand and without a word we embrace.

"Kurt…" he says, making no attempt to hide his tears.

"I know Dad, I know." I answer, my head buried in his sturdy shoulder.

He pulls away, still grasping my thin arm.

"Come home Kurt," he says, "Just promise me you'll come home."

"I-I can't. There are twenty four of us in there. Only one comes out and I'm not exactly your classic victor"

"Well you better try your damn hardest to win! I can't live without you Kurt. You're the only thing I have left," he says, his voice breaking

"No, don't say that. Be strong. I'll do my best. I promise to go down fighting. I'll give it everything I've got. I love you dad,"

A peace keeper enters the room and says that our time is up.

My father pulls me into one last embrace, and carefully slips something flat and round into my hand. The peace keeper pulls him away,

"I love you Kurt, just remember that!" he calls.

"I love you too," I answer, nearly choking on my tears.

The door slams shut with a loud bang that seems to represent to finality of this situation. I'm never going to see my dad again. Or our tiny house in the Seam. Or District 12.

With a sigh, I sink to the floor, accepting the inevitable.

Sometime in the next few weeks, I, Kurt Hummel, am going to die.


	4. Chapter 4 District 1

_**Chapter 4: District 1**_

Quinn:

The town square was buzzing with excitement. People made last minute bets on who would be reaped, and who would volunteer first, and throngs of teenagers talked excitedly about the days upcoming events.

Quinn stood alone under a large oak tree located in the corner of the square. The sunlight glimmered through the leaves, throwing dappled light across her face. She watched as a child, probably in their first year of having their name in the Reaping ball, cried into their mother's chest. Pathetic, she thought. She had heard that in other districts the Reaping was feared. Quinn thought this preposterous. Being able to participate in the games was a huge honour here in District 1, after all, 1 does have the largest pool of victors, she thought.

She emerged from where she lurked and made her way over to where she was required to stand. Just as the last people fell into place, the mayor, escort and numerous past victors made their way onto the stage. The mayor approached the microphone and welcoming the residents of District 1 to the Reaping, began to read from the long list of victors.

He then handed the microphone over to the escort, a tall thin man with a pointed red wig, tight suit of the same hue and orange-tinted skin.

"What a pleasure it is to be back here again! For those of you who don't remember, or may be new this year, I am Scorpii Ivory!" He said, sounding very enthusiastic, "Now let's watch a very special film that was sent here straight from the Capitol!"

The film began to roll, and when it finished, a round of applause echoed throughout the square.

"Now to see who will have the honour of participating in the 98th annual Hunger Games!" Scorpii said, receiving a cheer from the crowd. "As is traditional, ladies first!"

He walked toward the large glass bowl and reached an orange hand in,

"Dorothea Greenlaw!" He called.

The crowd parted and a tiny, twelve year old girl emerged. Her almost white blond hair was tied ponytails on either side of her head and her skin was so pale it almost seems as if she was dead.

The crowd let out a groan of disgust at the clear weakness the girl possessed. She could never be a suitable tribute.

Once Dorothea had taken her place on stage, the escort made his way to the boys' reaping ball.

"Whytt Rudolphine!"

When the District saw their male tribute, they let out shouts of outrage. Another twelve year old. It is fairly rare for those in their first year to be reaped, let alone two from the same district. It seemed outrageous.

Scorpii greeted both of the young children and then speaking directly into the microphone said the five words that everyone was waiting to hear,

"Do we have any volunteers?"

All hell broke loose. The seventeen and eighteen year olds all ran to the stage hoping to be the first ones up, thus being the new tribute.

Quinn leapt onto the stage, pushing a frightened looking Dorothea aside. Her reason for entering the games was so much more complex than just honour.

Quinn was somewhat of an outcast among her neighbours. She had fallen pregnant two years ago, at the age of sixteen, and for this was shunned by the rest of her district. She believed that if she won, she could bring herself redemption. _And anyway_, she thought, _if I don't win, so what. I don't have anything to live for. Either way, this is the best solution imaginable._

She glanced to her left to see who her counterpart was, doing a double take when she saw his muscular body and close cropped Mohawk.

Quinn had avoided him for the last two years. Yes, he had tried to talk and interact with her, but she had done all she could to distance her self from him. He was the one who had gotten her pregnant two years ago, and not only had he wanted her to keep the baby, which Quinn refused, he had wanted to raise it with her. Quinn tried to despise him, as she knew she should, but in truth, she had always loved him.

She looked at the ground as Scorpii asked him his name,  
"Noah Puckerman," he answered, his head held high.


	5. Chapter 5 Haymitch

_**Chapter 5: Haymitch**_

I lay in my large bed aboard the train to the Capitol. After boarding, Rachel and I had both gone straight to our respective bedrooms. Everything here is so… rich. Thick blue drapes hang from my window and my bed is large enough to fit about five people.

Everything still seems so unreal. It feels like a dream… or a nightmare. It's like I could wake up any second in my bed at home, with my father on the other side of the room, getting ready for work.

I hear a knock at my door,

"Kurt!" Effie calls, "Come have some dinner! You will just _love _the food!"

"Coming" I answer.

I stand up and walk over to the large full length mirror that hangs from the wall. I still wear the clothes I wore to the reaping. I open the massive cupboard that sits against the wall and gasp at the huge amount of clothes, shoes and accessories that are inside. We are only going to be on this train for what, a few days? Yet there are enough clothes to last weeks, only wearing each item once.

I choose a simple white shirt, black pants and a blue blazer, the exact same colour as my eyes. I walk to the mirror and take in my appearance. These clothes are so much nicer than those available in District 12, with the material being soft and silky, much unlike the cheap course fabrics that we buy back in 12. After combing my hair, I make my way toward the dining car, to find everyone else there already.

I take a seat next to Rachel who is absolutely silent, which is, in itself, a shock, as the Rachel I know is constantly talking; complaining about one thing or another, or making some ridiculous demand.

The dark mahogany table is laden with more food than I have ever seen in one place. I have no idea where to start, so I take a small helping of a number of dishes, over-filling my plate.

I am about to begin eating when Effie coughs, as if to grasp my attention.

"Is there a problem?" I ask.

"We must remember our manners, Kurt." She says, "And it would be good manners to wait for everyone to arrive before we start eating!"

"But everyone's…"

My sentence is cut short by a man stumbling into the room, clearly very drunk. This must be Haymitch, I realise. I had completely forgotten about our mentor. He collapses onto a chair at the head of the table, spilling his drink all over the expensive wood.

"THAT IS MAHOGANY!" Effie snaps.

I glance toward Rachel; she looks just as disgusted by the man who is supposed to help us survive these games as I am. Her classic Seam features, dark eyes and olive skin, are twisted into an expression that I suspect is mirrored on my own pale face. Haymitch takes a swig from the nearly empty bottle and then throws it across the room.

"They get worse ever year," He slurs, glaring at us.

I see Rachel's fists clench at her sides. If there is one thing she can't stand, it's being told there are others who are better than her.

"Well excuse me!" She snaps "One glance at us and you blow us off! For all you know, we might be the best fighters you've ever had!"

Her voice increases in volume and speed, a clear sign that she is getting worked up. Because I know Rachel, I can see that this is about more than just Haymitch's insult. She is taking out her anger about this whole situation on him.

"Well looks like we have a feisty one this year!" Haymitch says with a chuckle, "Well sweetheart, I've got some news for you; I _do _know you aren't fighters because one: look at you. _You're_ about as tall a six year old and this one here looks like he hasn't seen sunlight in ten years, and two: you're from twelve. Let's leave it at that. Accept the fact that you're going to die, and that there is nothing I can do about it."

He gets up and turns to leave. Just as he reaches the door, Rachel says something that stops him in his tracks,

"What about Katniss?"

He turns, suddenly seeming a whole lot more sober.

"What'd you say?" He growls

"What about Katniss?" She repeats her eyes steely, "She was a fighter, and she was from twelve. And Peeta, he lasted until the very end, and then killed himself. He was about as tough looking as Kurt."

Haymitch walked forward and grabbed her wrist.

"Don't. Mention. Them. Again!" He shouts.

Rachel flinches away from him. I can smell the alcohol on his breath from where I stand. For her, the smell must be overpowering. And not only is that, despite his drunkenness, Haymitch is extremely intimidating. He is the only person in the whole of Panem who has survived the Hunger Games twice.

"You helped them," Rachel whispers,

Haymitch's anger increases. I can see the fury on his wrinkled face. He raises his hand to hit her.

"HAYMITCH!" Effie screams, but he ignores her.

His hand flies toward Rachel's face. I can't stand it. I jump forward, pushing him away from my friend. He falls to the ground, his greasy grey hair falling in strands over his face.

"Don't you touch her," I snarl, overcome with anger.

"You don't know what its like," he whispers, his voice suddenly filled with sadness.

"What?" I ask my anger fading.

"You don't want to win. The faces of the other tributes… They never leave you. Every night, I will wake up, covered in sweat, screaming, because I dreamed I was back in the arena. For fifteen years that happened, every night. And then there was the Quarter Quell, and my nightmare came true. It was worse because I knew them all. I knew all twenty-three of them that died. I would be able to tell you their names. Chaff, Woof, Seeder, Blight, Cecilia, Johanna, Finnick, Mags, Wiress, Beetee, Katniss… Katniss… So young, and despite her bravery and ability to fight, she still didn't win. She was hope. She brought hope to the Districts. We could have rebelled. We were going to."

Effie's eyes widen, clearly this is the first time she has heard about this, but she stays silent and lets Haymitch continue to ramble.

"I should have died!" He shouts. "Why should I be here, now? I'm not worth anything!"

His whole body seems to collapse. We all stand, speechless at Haymitch's sudden outburst.

I tear my hand from Rachel's and approach our mentor. I kneel down, lifting his head and looking into his eyes, eyes the exact same blue as mine.

"If that's really how you feel," I say quietly, in what I hope in a comforting voice, "Then help us win. I know what you said, about winning, how it destroys you, but I plan on going home alive, and I would be honoured if you would help."

And with that, he collapses drunkenly onto the thickly carpeted floor.


	6. Chapter 6 Recap

_**Chapter 6: Recap  
**_After the ordeal with Haymitch none of us feel very hungry, but to please Effie, Rachel and I both consume a small serving of soup and bread, and I must say the food _is _magnificent. And by magnificent I mean about a million times better than that which we get in the Seam. We survive on mainly the tesserae rations and the small amount of food that my father's income will get us.

As we eat, Effie calls a Capitol attendant to take Haymitch away. The attendant does not even attempt to rouse our mentor, but instead just drags him to his room. He doesn't even stir. Whatever he was drinking must has been fairly strong.

As we finish our dinner, I go to stack the plates, as would be routine at home.

"That's not your job dear," Effie coos.

We make our way to where the television is located, to watch a recap of the Reapings. A sit my self down on the couch next to Rachel, taking her hand and giving her a small smile. She squeezes my hand and returns the smile.

The T.V. flashes on and I hear the voice of Claudius Templesmith, the long-term announcer for the Games.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen of Panem, as you all probably know I am Claudius Templesmith!" he says, receiving a laugh from the Capitol audience. "For those of you who didn't tune in to watch the Reapings live today, or for those who were attending their own, I bring to you; the 98th annual Reapings for District's 1 to 12!" The audience cheers as the screen flashes to District 1.

I think its crazy how they have so many willing volunteers. How could you _want_ to be part of the games? In the end, the tributes are a fierce looking muscled boy and an extremely pretty blonde girl.

From two, a huge boy and equally as large girl volunteer.

From three, a fairly young red-haired girl and a boy with dark, frizzy hair.

From four, a scary looking girl with long dark hair and darker skin volunteers, and then picked the legitimate way is… a boy. His dark brown curly hair glitters in the sunlight and he has the build of someone who has clearly been doing physical work from a young age. I cannot take my eyes of him. Blaine, I think the escort calls him. Blaine. I like the way the name sounds, it suits him.

Rachel nudges me.

"Kurt, are you okay? You're kind of gaping."

"Yea, I'm fine." I answer, my voice barley above a whisper.

She gives me a strange look, and then turns back to the screen.

The rest of the Reapings pass in a bit of a blur, with only a few people standing out. The tributes from 6 seem to be a couple. First the girl is reaped, and the boy screams out her name, Tina, I think. He is restrained by Peacekeepers, but then his name is called and he runs to the stage, embracing his girlfriend.

From seven there is an extremely tall boy, who despite his athletic build, looks more like a giant teddy bear than anything else.

From nine there is a blonde boy with a huge mouth, which if you ask me, makes him look a bit like a trout.

From eleven, a curvy black girl, and then from twelve, there is us. Seeing it from the audiences point of view brings it to a new level of reality. I see my face pale dramatically as my name is called. I see my father fighting to break free of the Peacekeepers grips. I see me and Rachel embrace on stage, causing the Capitol audience to 'ooo and ahh' at the second display of affection by two tributes, and making Claudius question whether there was a new pair of 'Star-crossed Lovers from District 12,' obviously referring to Katniss and Peeta's romance.

It kind of annoys me.

Claudius signs off and the screen goes black. For a minute we just sit there in silence.

"So…" Rachel says, "Do you think any of them would ally with us? Is there anyone that you would _want _to ally with?"

"Blaine." I say without thinking.

"Who?" Rachel says, looking confused.

"The boy from four I answer," looking at the ground, embarrassed.

"He's a career Kurt. And we're from District 12."

"Yea, you're right." I mumble, "Anyone you want?"

"The boy from seven," She answers.

"Rachel, you were just giving me a lecture on the unlikeliness of allying with a Career. He's as good as one. He is huge. The careers will claim him straight away."

We both fall silent.

We sit there, awkwardly for a few more minutes, until Effie comes in, telling us to go to bed, because we have a 'big, big, big day tomorrow.'

I say goodnight to both her and Rachel and then walk to my room.

I collapse onto my bed, not even bothering to undress. It all seems _too _real now. Overly real, if that makes sense. It's hard to describe the way I feel right now. I'm terrified beyond belief, angry at the Capitol for forcing this fate upon me, devastated that I may never see my father again, but also numb. Strangely numb. I start to cry, and before I know it, my body is raking with sobs. Tears run down my face, but I make no attempt to wipe them away, knowing that others will soon take their place.

I don't know if I am simply being a drama queen, or if my reaction is fair, but right now, I feel like the world is ending.

Literally ending.


	7. Chapter 7 Willing to Die

_**Chapter 7: Willing to Die**_

I wake to the sound of someone knocking at my door  
"Kurt?" The person, Rachel, whispers, "Are you awake? Can I come in?"

I look at the clock next to my bed. It reads 2:16am; I must have only been asleep for an hour or two

"Yea sure," I mutter, my brain still addled with sleep.

She slides into the room, coming to sit on my bed.

"Could you sleep?" she asks.

I shrug, "Not really. I mean this whole thing is just so…"

I am unable to finish my sentence. It's just so… so… unreal? Yes. Terrifying? Definitely. Depressing? Yea.

But none of these words seem to express how I feel.  
Rachel nods, understanding what I mean, even if I left half of it unsaid.

"I know," She says, her dark eyes filled with sadness. "It didn't feel real right away. Like a dream. But then it did. And I realised that I'm not going home. I'm not going to see Leroy or Hiram again. I'm never going to get to live!" She says; her voice breaking and tears running down her face.

At that moment, I decide something.

I am going to do _everything_ in my power to make sure Rachel gets out of this alive. I am going to die. She is going to live. After all, she has more to live for than me. She has her dad and her… I'm not really sure what Hiram is… but she has them. And although she is an outcast, she is still treated better than me, who is picked on for every aspect of my personality, from my high voice to my aversion to violence. Kind of ironic, if you think about it. Me, who hates violence, and demanding diva-like Rachel, who will fight for what she believes in, but with words, and sneaky, devious pranks; are being forced into a competition where it is kill or be killed.

I look at Rachel, seeing things with a new light. She is more than my fellow tribute, she is my best friend. I never realised before now, but she is the only person other than my father, that I know I am willing to die for.

Sunlight streams through the window, warming my face. I can feel Rachel's hand in mine from where she lays next to me. We had talked and cried together for hours, until it was pitch black outside signalling that dawn was near.

Finally, not being able to help it, I had let out a huge yawn, making us realise that we should get some sleep before it was time to get up. We had snuggled down under the covers together, our foreheads touching, and our arms wrapped tightly around one another, but there was nothing intimate about this. I know that if anyone had walked in, then they would have thought that there was something going on between us, but I have never felt that was for Rachel, or any other girl for that matter. Eventually, I too had drifted into sleep, never once breaking contact with Rachel.

Now, I lie still, not wanting to disturb my friend. I turn my head as far as it will go, trying to see the time, but I am unable to, so I simply snuggle up tighter in the blankets and let the sun warm my back.

This is the closest I have felt to happy since the reaping. I wish this could last for longer, but I know that eventually we are going to have to get up and go face Effie and Haymitch. If Haymitch even bothers to get out of bed that is.

I can't help but feeling sorry for our Mentor. He has obviously been through a lot. From the way he broke down last night I can tell that he drinks to try and numb the pain. I guess that there is a reason that most victors are alcoholics or are addicted to morphling, a strong drug, or are mentally unstable, or exceptionally violent. Watching the Hunger Games on T.V. is bad enough, but having to actually be there… lets just say I am not looking forward to it.

I hear tapping on the door, and before I can even consent, Effie bursts into the room. She seems shocked to find Rachel in here as well.

"What do you call this?" She snaps.

Rachel is woken by her shout. Rubbing her eyes she sits up and glares at Effie. I didn't think it was possible for someone to look menacing when they were wearing bright pink silky pyjamas and have hair sticking up at every angle. But Rachel managed to pull it off.

"Why is Rachel in here?" She asks me.

"She couldn't sleep," I say staring into her un-natural green eyes, "And neither could I. In case you didn't notice, this whole situation is a bit over whelming. We needed each other's company."

"Well," Effie breathes, seeming agitated, "I hope you know that no, how should I say, 'canoodling' is allowed."

Rachel looks shocked. Obviously no such thing had ever crossed her mind.

"We're just friends," she says, sounding angry at Effie's assumption.

Effie purses her lips. "Well… don't let anything like this happen again. Get yourselves showered and dressed and come down to breakfast."

She walks away, her high heels clacking heavily against the wooden floor.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says, "I didn't know I'd get you in trouble."

I smile at her.  
"Don't worry about it. I needed a talk, just like you did. See you at breakfast."

She gives me a hug and then leaves through the still open door, closing it behind her.


	8. Chapter 8 The Letter

_**Chapter 8: The Letter**_

I stand in the shower, letting the warm, lavender scented water fall over me. It had taken me a good five minutes to work out which buttons to press. Nearly the whole wall is covered in them, so you can't blame me. There are different buttons to adjust the water pressure, heat, how it smells, what colour it is, and probably a dozen other things that I can't be bothered working out.

There is a column or shelves to my right that contain various shampoos and body washes. I take time smelling them all, finally settling on one that smells like strawberry, a fruit that I have only ever tasted once, years ago, when both my parents were still alive. I wash my hair and body and then climb out of the shower, grabbing a soft blue towel and wrapping myself in it. The whole left wall is covered with devices that I would not even be able to fathom their purpose if not for small squares of plastic above them detailing their usage. I approach a small, gun-like device that is supposed to be used to dry your hair. I take it off the wall and turn it on, letting the warm air dry my hair, making it feel extremely soft and silky. I run my fingers through it, marvelling at its glossy texture.

I walk out of the bathroom to my wardrobe. I put on a pair of tight black pants, much like the ones I wore yesterday, a light green shirt, a white coat that reaches below my hips and a pair of white dress shoes. I crouch down to retrieve my scarf from the pile where I had thrown my Reaping clothes yesterday. I drape it around my neck and then begin to fold the rest of the outfit. When I reach the pants I wore, I feel a lump in the pocket. I had completely forgotten about the object my father had given me. Before boarding the train, I had shoved in into my pocket, planning to look at it later, but had then forgotten about it.

It is, as I had felt when my father had given it to me, small and circular. It shines gold and is engraved on top with a large winged lizard, its tail twisting around a phrase written in an unrecognisable language. _Pugnare pro credis, non quod alii volunt. _I say it aloud. Even though I do not know its meaning I like the way the words roll of my tongue.

I notice a small latch on the side of the object. I open it, finding that inside it contains a clock. I glance at the clock next to my bed, and then back at the pocket-watch. The times do not match, and after a second, I realise that the watch in my hand is not ticking. I caress its smooth gold edge, and then turn it upside down, seeing if there is anything on the bottom. A piece of slightly yellowed paper falls to the floor. I pick it up and carefully unfold it. It looks like a letter of some sort.

'_Dear Kurt,' _it begins

'_If you are reading this then it means that something must have happened to me, meaning that I cant tell this to you face to face.. If so, please forgive me, I never wanted to leave you and your father. Anyway, this means that your father must have finally deemed it time for you to read this. He is a great man. I trust him to make a good decision._

_Therefore it is time for you to hear the truth, or what I believe is the truth. The truth about the Hunger Games, and the Capitol, and the peacekeepers and everything like this that makes Panem what it is. I know that my opinion is one that is shared my many other people in almost all of the Districts, although on the rare occasion that someone speaks up, they conveniently find them selves the victim of an accident._

_This alone shows how powerful, and evil, the Capitol and President Snow are. I mean, every year, they collect _children _and make them kill each other. It is so unjust. And they live in splendour while we are starving to death here in twelve!_

_I guess what I am trying to say is that the Capitol must be brought down. We must fight against them; do whatever it takes to bring justice to Panem. We have to rebel. There was talk of a rebellion when I was still a very young child, around the time of Katniss's games. She was the spark that could have ignited the flame. Then she died and the flame went out._

_The reason I am telling you all this is not because I want you to go out and start fighting on the front lines. God, no, I could never let that happen. I just want you to be aware of how unfair all this is. Yes, everyone in the Districts hate the Hunger Games because of how our children are slaughtered, but they don't see what I think is the bigger picture. They don't see how because the Capitol can do this, they can do anything. If they desired it, they could suddenly decide to kill half of the population. Do you see now why the Capitol must fall? Because what will be next?_

_I just want you to know. You don't need to do anything at all if you don't want. But if you do want to rebel, even just a tiny bit, know that I am with you every step of the way. But be careful, I could never forgive my self if something happened to you._

_Just know, Kurt, that I love you, no matter what, I love you. Be yourself and don't let anybody hurt you._

Pugnare pro credis, non quod alii volunt. _Fight for what you believe in, not what others want._

_I love you,_

_From your mother, _

_Posy Hawthorne._

I let the letter fall to the floor, shocked. My mum… she wanted to rebel… If this letter had fallen into the wrong hands, then our whole family could have suffered.

I honestly don't know how to feel about what I just read.

I take the letter and put it in my pocket, along with the pocket watch, and trying to turn my expression into a normal one, make my way to breakfast.


	9. Chapter 9 Quinn

_**Chapter 9: Quinn**_

Quinn:  
Quinn Fabray sat on the small, but comfortable couch in the corner of her bedroom. They had boarded the train that would take them directly to the Capitol less than ten minutes ago. As District 1 was virtually next door to the Capitol, they were allowed to spend the night after the Reaping in the Justice Building. In other districts, the tributes may have tried to escape, but in one, the idea was so far-fetched that there were hardly any precautions taken.

As soon as they had left, Quinn had gone directly to her room, doing all she could to avoid Puck.

Last night, after saying the official goodbyes, in which Quinn's parents and older sister had been a mixture between proud and devastated, her, Puck, Scorpii and a handful of previous victors had watched the Reapings. Quinn thought that this year's line up was rather pathetic.

There were only a few that she would even consider allying with. The boy from two seemed like a good choice, his height, weight, and muscle would make him extremely valuable, although she would have to kill him before too long, to ensure her victory. The girl from two, Marble, Quinn thought her name was, also seemed like she could be a good ally. She was also your typical Career. Both from four seemed like they'd be ok, although the boy seemed a bit soft. The only tributes from a non-career district that she thought could be good were the tall, handsome boy from seven, and the blonde boy from nine, even if only for their brawn.

They would be arriving in the Capitol before very long, and Quinn could not help being quite excited. She had heard about the glamour of the Capitol, but had never really seen it, not even on TV. The small glimpses she had got, during previous Games and the like, had been marvellous. The fashion, the architecture, everything.

Maybe the extravagance of the city would take her mind off Puck.

_Not long now, _she thought. _Soon, I will be free._


	10. IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE

**~~~IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE~~~**

I am going to discontinue this story. Don't panic, only on this site, because the uploading process really annoys me. You can read the rest at story/1462549-you-think-this-is-hard-a-hunger-games-glee

PLEASE keep reading.

Thank you for your consideration,

From me.


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